


sleepless

by mentalstrainatdawn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Guilt, M/M, Nightmares, Post-The Reichenbach Fall, Reichenbach Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mentalstrainatdawn/pseuds/mentalstrainatdawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nights and mornings are when the mind is at its cruelest and when John's subconscious haunts him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sleepless

John loved it when London was like this. The wet pavement and roads glistening in the orange glow of the towering street lights. The scent of rain still fresh in the air, cool enough to show the wispy trail of his breath as he ran the back alleys of the city following the billowing black coat in front of him.

"You’re enjoying this." Sherlock said with his sly smile twitching at the corner of his lip as he crept up against a cold brick wall catching his breath "Can’t blame you."

The pair were tailing a member of a Yakuza gang that was causing Lestrade enough trouble to ask for Sherlock’s help. Sherlock had been sniffing them out for weeks but now they had been led right to their doorstep. The consulting detective described it as a bee returning to the honeycombe “Only it’s evidence. Not honey.”

John cocked his eyebrows with a smile “Shame. We need some back at the flat.”

Sherlock frowned and listened to the echoed footsteps around the corner. “He knows we’re here… as do three others” Sherlock peeked in order to confirm his deductions only for a bullet ricochet so close to him it made the man jump back from a flurry of red brick dust. “They’re using their bullets sparingly.”

"Is that a good or a bad thing?"

"Either they have a strict ration on their low ammo stock or they’re exceedingly well trained… take your pick." he turned away from John as if to focus on the men just beyond their reach.

"Right. Let me stand closer, Sherlock." John took out his pistol and loaded it with a loud click and ready to peek over the edge. Only Sherlock made no sign that he’d heard.

"Sherlock are you listening to me?" John pulled lightly on Sherlock’s shoulder. Turning the man back to face him.

Blood.

Deep red and oozing across Sherlock’s face. His porcelain white skin engulfed by crimson. The side of his head was wet and dulled by blood that poured out of the unseen wound. But Sherlock’s gaze froze John on the spot, his own breath caught in the terrifying pain of meeting those eyes. Dead. Opened wide but no longer observing…and yet his cold stare pierced through John’s very heart and woke him from his sleep with a jerk… he vaguely recalls hearing himself cry out.

It took a while for his racing heart to settle and by then he had already felt the lingering soaked trails of tears down his cheeks.

Another ghost. Another haunting dream to curse him every night with the sorrow and guilt and regret, so much bloody regret, taking the shape of his dear friend. It wasn’t the first time John watched the sun rise, choosing the exhaustion over the entrapment of his subconscious, and it wouldn’t be the last.

**Author's Note:**

> Suffering from a terrible case of insomnia this plot bunny hasn't left me since the day we all saw Sherlock jump. Never with the bravery to do anything about it now that he's coming back I thought WELL SHIT WHAT PERFECT TIMING.


End file.
